


Claimant

by Grimmy88



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Office, Blow Jobs, Claiming, Claiming Bites, Coming Untouched, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Knotting, M/M, Office Sex, Original Character(s), Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24504457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmy88/pseuds/Grimmy88
Summary: For a lovely tumblr user who wanted to see an a/b/o AU in an office setting. The pairing of choice is Evan MacMillan(Trapper)/Dwight (aka Evanfield).Dwight is a lowly office worker, an IT to be precise. The day he learns his suppressants are discontinued is also the day he's called up to his boss' office to help fix a computer error. Once there he meets the CEO and newly appointed president of the MacMillan corporation who seems intent on boring a hole through his body with those dark eyes.
Relationships: Dwight Fairfield/Evan MacMillan | The Trapper
Comments: 20
Kudos: 309





	Claimant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Serria_Foxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serria_Foxx/gifts).



The computer screen had words on it, but they seemed to be in another language for how well he could decipher them. It wasn’t exactly his fault, what with the news he’d received two weeks ago finally coming to fruition with its ramifications.

It was a bad thing to have happen at work.

Because two weeks ago Dwight had been informed his suppressants were being discontinued. There were other drugs, but he needed to see his doctor before his insurance would allow him to switch over. Problem was he wasn’t scheduled for any days off for at least another month. His job was too demanding (not to mention the extra gigs he picked up on the weekends).

For this company he was one of ten IT guys providing service for the _entire_ high-rise and, though he had the most technical skill, he had the lowest seniority. So, the days off left for him to choose from were slim pickings anyway. Not to mention his insurance was provided by his employment anyway.

He’d bet good money the CEO ( _and_ president) didn’t have to worry about using their shitty insurance with the money he made. Or rather, that he’d inherited.

That was a recent development, too. A couple months ago the old CEO had suddenly disappeared. He’d taken a vacation, to where nobody in the building had known or really cared. The fact that he hadn’t immediately returned, as ironfisted as he was, had raised the alarm. Eventually he was found, three weeks since anyone had seen him, trapped in the basement of his mansion. Rumor had it the police had found the door locked and his body propped in some fancy chaise. They hadn’t, and couldn’t, rule out foul play. Nor prove it.

Overall, the change didn’t really affect Dwight. The former MacMillan CEO had reportedly been a cankerous, greedy, and sometimes cruel man. But he’d been a man the tech had never needed to meet. If he’d ever had a computer problem it was Dwight’s manager who had handled it.

And now, even though ownership had changed, that particularity wouldn’t.

The omega would continue to work within the MacMillan corporation, anonymous and complacent. It may have been for the best, though, especially now with the news he’d just gotten about his suppressants. Supposedly, Archie MacMillan had been an alpha. His heir and newly reigning CEO and president of the company, Evan, was one also.

Dwight hadn’t disclosed his secondary gender—he hadn’t thought he’d needed to considering the insurance had covered his suppressants with nary a question. But, why would it have mattered to anyone in his department anyway? They were all betas. In fact, the majority of the people in the building were. With his suppressants he had fit right in. Without them… well, the betas probably wouldn’t care—their scenting wasn’t as strong as an alpha or omega’s.

And around them, Dwight felt nothing and would continue to feel nothing—especially not when he had a screen to focus on. So, again, not having his drugs was a problem, but not one that he couldn’t handle for a few weeks until he could get it sorted.

So, he spent his days as he always had—focused on warding off spam and phishing attacks or helping someone recover a lost file. It’s what he was doing that day, too. He’d been so intent on his work that he hadn’t even noticed that most of his department had left for lunch until he moved to stretch his back out. So, with only three of them in their office, _of course_ they would get a call from the VP. He needed one of them ASAP, as explained by the coworker who had answered the phone. Unfortunately, his two peers that had remained behind had been equally intent on finishing their own projects as he’d been.

The difference was he _had_ finished.

And that was enough of a difference to have him knocking on a door that lead to a room bigger than the entire IT office.

The VP was an older man, maybe in his late fifties or early sixties. It was hard to tell from his face, especially when his wrinkles were compounded by annoyed creases. His mouth, especially, was pressed tight.

And then his forehead folded. “Who are you? Where’s Wright?”

Wright was his manager, and he informed the other man of his whereabouts.

“Of course,” the old man grumbled. He slicked back hair that was barely there and stepped aside. “You’d better be able to help me.”

Dwight gave a quiet, affirmative noise and crossed the expansive office to his desk.

“I mean it; I’m not sure what your qualifications are, but—”

“I have the same qualifications as my manager,” the young tech defended without thinking. It wasn’t a smart slip.

“Oh, you’ve got fifteen years here, boy?” The beta looked him over. “Must be why I’ve never seen you before. Now, how about you stop smart mouthing and get to work?”

“Yes, sir,” Dwight uttered meekly. “Can you tell me what the problem is?”

“So much for ‘qualifications,’” his boss sneered. Which was asinine because how was the omega supposed to guess by looking at a normal screen with nothing amiss? “I had documents I needed to pass on and now they’re gone.”

“Gone?” the younger man parroted as amicably as he could. He didn’t want to exacerbate the bigger man’s mood any further. “Did you accidentally delete them? Let’s check the recyclable bin.”

“They’re not there,” the VP snapped even as he confirmed it with the empty screen of the folder. “They’re not anywhere—they’re gone.”

“Yes, sir,” Dwight murmured, already typing up the commands to fix the problem.

“Well? Are you able to get them back? There were _three_ Excel files—and that’s _it_.” He straightened the tie around his chubby neck as he dictated the orders. “I don’t need any other deleted files so don’t waste my time.” He continued with the brutal diatribe even as Dwight’s mind caught on the peculiar limitations. While it was good to specify what kind of files he was looking for, the emphasis made him curious.

He wouldn’t be able to sate his curiosity with the round man standing at his elbow, so it was very fortuitous when the door to his office opened so quick and fierce it bounced off the wall behind it with a crack. The beta’s head twisted, a snarl on his lips and ready to fire at whomever had decided to interrupt so rudely.

It turned into a strangled, surprised sound when he recognized who had entered. There was a beat and then the VP gave a very strained facsimile of a chuckle. “Well, I didn’t know you were going to stop by!” He hurried away from the omega’s side to approach his new visitor. “I told you I’d send the files—”

“Two hours ago.”

“Evan—”

“President MacMillan.”

Dwight’s fingers fumbled and his eyes were rising before he could catch himself to see the owner of the company. Even if he had possessed the ability to stop himself, though, he somehow knew he still would’ve risked the glance at a man so high above him he was almost mythical. And he certainly lived up to that comparison.

Physically, it was undeniable that this man was an alpha. He all but towered over his subordinate, and by extension Dwight. Unlike his pudgy colleague, Evan MacMillan had not grown lackadaisical with office work. He was wearing a suit, as expected, but it looked likely to rip at the slightest movement of the rigid, broad shoulders. It seemed a similar danger for his sleeves that did nothing to hide the bulbous mass of biceps underneath them. Even the dress shirt beneath the black fabric was straining, most acutely over the ample curve of his pectorals.

He heroically made his eyes drift _up_ next. The new president was bald with a severe face. He wasn’t old like his second in command, though he certainly wasn’t as young as Dwight. Along his skin there were indiscernible, almost soft-looking pink and silver scars. Maybe he’d had an accident in a hands-on session within the mines before the company had turned to other sources of revenue?

Still, there was something handsome to be found in his face, even though he was not outrightly so.

His voice was as stern as his face, and yet even so it was a discreet sort of harsh bluntness he directed at the blubbering beta. With the alpha command inherently laced through his words, it didn’t need to be much more.

Dark, cold eyes flicked to him, causing him to jolt back into awareness. The sudden jerk scraped his fingernails over the keyboard below and reminded him of the other curiosity that had preoccupied him mere moments before.

With the VP distracted and spitting rapid-fire placations with only one-word responses given back, Dwight let his fingers fly. The little clicks were soothing to his ears; the reflection of the screen on his glasses a comfort. These familiarities weren’t exactly enough to drown out the heavy steps advancing on him, but they helped keep his eyes trained.

The files were easy to recover. The three Excel ones were most prominent—but the others, those were innocuous, simple Word documents with indecipherable names. But, still, Dwight went with his gut and opened one.

It was about the alpha approaching him and his cruel, demanding method of enforcing his authority and expectations. It wasn’t any new knowledge; these facts were known and talked about between all sorts of workers with apathetic despondency. But those were always spoken word, muttered in secrecy. This was written and digitized.

He could tell by looking into the file that it had been downloaded—so it was from an e-mail, most likely. So, to whom was the beta complaining? Or who’d been complaining to him?

He moved the mouse to open an older one, intent on reading that one, too… or he would have, if not for the looming presence that had finally made its way to his side. The dominant pheromones followed.

Dwight put his palms to the desk for balance and tried not to inhale too deeply.

“Who are you?” the president asked.

“He’s just one of the techs,” his underling answered. “There was a mistake with the files and he’s—”

The tall man didn’t have to utter a warning. He simply turned his jaw, a slow yet aggressive move, to look down at the old man. It shut him up completely and got the omega answering when it was turned back onto him.

“I’m Dwight Fairfield, sir,” he replied, his voice just above a murmur. “I’ll have these files recovered in… in a minute.”

He kept his eyes averted, knowing it was both expected of him and the safest thing he could do in the presence of such an intimidating man.

“Recovered,” MacMillan repeated. “Why were they deleted?”

It was a good question and one the tech meant to answer with the opening of the oldest file.

The VP, however, attempted to give him his own answer: “Oh, you know. After this or that update, I got a little confused and tried to clear up some space. They got mixed in with a few other—”

Dwight stopped listening to the excuses because that’s all they were. The file confirmed it. It, too, was about the new owner but rather than his demeanor, it discussed his qualifications—or rather the lack thereof according to the writer’s opinion. After a few disparaging sentences the young man realized what he was reading: a call for the board of trustees to recognize the vice president as the rightful successor to the senior MacMillan based on his years in the company and expertise.

_This isn’t a kingdom for a son to inherit_ , the document claimed, _especially one so inhumane. We suffered the cruelty of one alpha, why should we stand another?_

“What’s taking you so long?” the beta demanded, voice tight.

The young man looked to him and back down again. The evidence was right there in front of him. If his fat boss took another step he’d see and recognize it. Even if Dwight hid it away for him, he’d still be fired within a week to protect the secret. So, with no incentive to help the VP, especially after his callous comments (or perhaps more so because of them), he settled on helping the boss who would let him keep his job.

“Nothing,” the omega finally replied. “I’ve found your Excel files, Mr. MacMillan, but you might want to look at this.”

“What’re you doing, you little ass—” the VP lunged forward, though a swift, massive hand halted him.

“Don’t move,” the president ordered. He neared the tech’s shoulder to peer over it and gave a similar command when the lowly office worker moved to get out of his way. “Stay.”

Dwight wished he hadn’t shuddered so physically it had to be visible when hot breath skimmed his neck. He also wished the methodical, audible scenting of his pheromones by the alpha didn’t make him gasp.

He was given respite, however, when the big man’s attention focused on the white page before them. The trawling path of his eyes was almost tangible in the silent room.

“I-I don’t know what you think you’re seeing but—”

“A document from you trying to claim my position in this company.”

“No—why would I do that? I worked faithfully under your father for years!”

“You imply that he was a tyrant.”

“I would never—” the old man sputtered here and tried a new tactic. He pointed directly at Dwight’s face. “He must have put it there.”

“What’s his name?” MacMillan asked.

There was no answer, only the man’s clammy skin draining white. “G-get Wright in here; he’ll prove it.”

“Wright,” the alpha drawled. He straightened to his full height and settled a giant palm just above the tech’s elbow. “The man my father hired to cover his correspondences. Yes, he’d be willing to corroborate anything you say for a pay raise.” A callused thumb dragged down his skin. “Print this with all the dates, timestamps—whatever evidence you can.”

“Y-yes, sir,” the computer specialist said, immediate and obedient.

And he did. It was a quick thing, but he and the VP were made to wait after, all but locked in that spacious office in oppressive silence until the trustees, his own IT manager, and a man that must’ve been a lawyer, marched in through the door. The CEO made him show the documents and recount his own perspective to the group. All the while that giant hand hovered just off his arm; his scent just off his nostrils.

Then, simply, he was made to leave. And with each step to do so he could feel solid, brown eyes heating his back until the door shut behind him.

It only took one day for Dwight to learn the fallout. He hadn’t disclosed his involvement in the incident, so his coworkers had relayed the story to each other and him—mostly inaccurate save for the important facts: both the VP and Wright had been fired. The former had been replaced with one of higher-ups who had always supported the MacMillan family. The latter’s position had yet to be filled. That meant divvying up the work between the nine IT workers left.

And that’s what they did and were doing when they got yet another call from their superiors. This one was from the president’s secretary and while one of his other coworker’s answered, it was Dwight who was summoned. Needless to say, the elevator ride was more anxiety-inducing than the previous day’s.

He expected the secretary to make him wait, but he was ushered right in to see the company’s owner. And if he’d thought the VP’s office was huge then this area was gigantic. There was so much empty space that he expected an echo to reverberate when the alpha, perched as he was behind his desk, started talking.

_If_ he started talking because it very much seemed as though he was content in staring with his dark, roving eyes.

Growing increasingly unnerved by the silence, Dwight found his lips moving to fill it. “Were you hav—having computer issues, sir?”

“No,” he said, several beats too late. He waited a few more before standing. “Come here.”

The omega did as he was told, keeping his eyes downcast until he was in front of the desk.

“No,” his boss repeated. “Come _here_.” He emphasized exactly where with a point of his finger. Directly behind the desk, where the older man had been sitting. Where he’d made room by wheeling the chair back and away.

Dwight hesitated, fisting the fabric of his slacks. “D-did I do something wrong, Mr. MacMillan?”

“No.” He pointed again.

Unsure—about the veracity of his denial, about the urging, about the _moment_ , but most of all about his ability to refuse—the tech did as he was bid.

The CEO did not move, so his subordinate had to step incommodiously close and fight to keep his eyes low and affixed to that large chest. He listened to the thudding of his heartbeats increase as if urged on by the hands that brushed his shoulders, that maneuvered him to turn around. Naturally, his eyes fell to the computer screen. It was calm and boring—its wallpaper black and mostly empty save for the dotting of application icons here and there. None of them were in process though, not even minimized to the task bar.

It wasn’t a computer issue, he’d said, so why was he being made to stand there?

“Dwight Fairfield.” His name landed heavily on the back of his neck.

“Sir?” His hands sought solace at the bottom of his tie this time.

His boss drew in a breath, deep and sniffing. In no way was this man trying to hide the fact that he was scenting. “You’re an omega.”

Did he need to respond? It was a statement, after all. But, then, suddenly, he felt his paranoia pique. He could feel it slithering down from his brain, slimy and unwanted, to settle in his chest.

“I’m sorry—the employment papers never said I needed to tell anybody. Only my doctors and my insurers know… And I’ll be back on my suppressants soon; there was just a mix up and I haven’t been able to see the doctor yet.” He twisted the fabric between his fingers until they went red and white. “It hasn’t bothered anyone.”

“It hasn’t bothered the _betas_ ,” MacMillan corrected, “but they are sub-human compared to us.”

That was a terrifyingly incorrect statement, but Dwight wasn’t stupid enough to refute it aloud when he was within arms’ length of the alpha. He just tucked his chin down and remained silent. The bigger man seemed content to let that quiet stand which made an already uncomfortable moment all the more distressing.

Finally, _finally_ , he disrupted it. “How long have you been with my company?”

“Al-almost two years…?”

“And how old _are_ you?”

“Twenty-seven.” Was that a problem? Would he want people well into their thirties? Dwight wasn’t sure what he was postulating with these questions, and besides, he’d just helped him, hadn’t he? He’d stopped some sort of coup, or at least had aided in removing a thorn from his side.

The older man was most likely grateful. There might have just been some truth in those rumors about him and the CEO was just having some difficulty expressing himself.

Or Dwight was far too kind and naïve, which he knew to absolutely be the case when heavy hands fell upon his shoulders. The air in his lungs stuck, as if it had suddenly become the wrong shape while inside him. Thick fingers squeezed, surprisingly gentle.

“You’ve done me a favor,” MacMillan informed him. “You could have blackmailed him.”

Dwight blanched internally and took a moment to consider the millions the VP must have been worth. Even so, even if he had ever entertained such an idea, he doubted he would’ve ever been able to go through with it. So, mulishly, he replied: “That’s illegal,” and felt all the younger for it.

His boss chuffed onto the back of his neck. “You made the smart choice,” he reassured in a low grumble and pressed his fingers in briefly. “Keeping me happy is smart.”

The tech dared to turn his head to find the larger figure blurrily in his peripheral. He thought it time to say something but wasn’t entirely sure on what response would be appropriate—nor how to be appropriate in this situation. Was _he_ being blackmailed? Threatened?

Then the hands on him moved outward—smearing along his shoulders and down his arms—and it came to him that there might’ve been a third option.

The man behind him stepped closer, though not so they were completely pressed together. It was enough, though, that Dwight could feel the bottom of the generous, arousing curve of the CEO’s pectorals against the top of his shoulder blades. Close enough that he could feel the way his own ass, always an aspect of his body he thought too disproportioned in comparison to the rest of him, molded to the rigid expanse of thighs. He would’ve been mortified at the difference between their body types if it weren’t so stimulating.

And if the palms skimming up and down and then slipping _under_ his arms to touch his flanks were any indication, he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

He wasn’t sure how that was possible—how this _moment_ was possible. He couldn’t be more ill-suited to the man caressing him if he tried, and yet, here he was with insistent fingers tracking the softness of his torso through his dress shirt. Leisurely, they circled and pressed in on his nipples.

Dwight ducked his chin to gawk down at them, mind immediately and insistently comparing the moment to one of the _several_ pornos he’d watched with just such a premise. He wouldn’t have to guess if asked to number the times such videos had gotten him off. And nobody else would need to either, not if they could see how immediate his body’s response was.

Even so, even with the flood of heat warming his cheeks and stomach and crotch, he managed to stop fiddling with his tie and settle his hands over the bigger ones upon him.

“Sir?” The question was practically a squeak.

“Don’t suddenly try to play dumb,” the alpha murmured into his ear, “not when I can feel it.”

And how could Dwight refute that? Not with the way he was unwittingly arching forward into the questing hands. Not with how his eyes and breath stuttered at the loosening and removal of his tie.

MacMillan tossed it aside so he could go back to his administrations, up and down before he gave up the farce and set fastidiously at the tech’s shirt buttons. Once undone he pulled the fabric free of the confines of the smaller man’s belt. And now, with it loose, he made to spin Dwight to face him.

The omega resisted.

And that changed the charge in the air from heat to frigidness. Fingers curled around his wrists, tight and halting.

It had been a mistake, the younger man knew, but he it had been an inevitable one. His insecurities wouldn’t have allowed anything else. He wanted his shirt to remain, to hide everything away, safe under the fabric.

Never mind that those hands had already felt what was underneath. Never mind that _he_ could feel the path they had taken across his skin. Never mind those things, because still, that little voice in his mind questioned how an alpha like the president behind him, built of rock and steel, could remain interested after he saw Dwight uncovered.

The alpha wasn’t keen on wasting time, if his brisk maneuvering before hadn’t made that obvious. He seemed to have made up his mind already, and as far as he was concerned, his employee’s body had made up his, too.

There was a low rumble next to his ear and then a command placed directly into it: “Turn.”

Dwight did it, immediate and submissive despite his reservations. He kept his eyes cast downward and watched the way the buttons at his wrists were handled. With that obstacle out of the way, the big man stripped his torso bare, tossing his dress shirt onto the floor along with his tie.

The alpha took a long drag through his nostrils and then reached out again. Immediately his hands set upon the one place Dwight didn’t want them: his belly. And it _was_ a belly, because there was no other appropriate word he could use to describe the softness he held around his middle. Not even bike riding miles to and from work every day had managed to tone his body the way society demanded. So, his belly and ass remained and, now, they were on display. And he could do nothing but shudder against the calluses denting into the former.

They stayed there, kneading and _maybe judging_ for so long the tech felt as though any moment the fitter man would burst out in laughter.

But the unexpected happened again instead. Another command: “Take the rest off.”

Dwight did so, unsure and with a stutter in his arms. His belt buckle chattered because of it, its repetitive little chimes a testament to his nerves. MacMillan waited until he’d freed the metal to yank the leather from around his waist. The younger man, understanding what was expected of him, moved onto the button and zipper of his slacks. Once again, the other man expedited the process until the omega was stripped completely bare.

He kicked the pile of balled up clothes aside as he stepped back to gaze upon what he’d uncovered.

The younger man didn’t need to look up to know his body was being analyzed, nor did he want to. He wanted to find the moment terrifying or disgusting, but he didn’t. And that was obvious in the upwards curve of his treacherous cock. His nature betrayed him as well, rendering him submissive and mute with no word of protest. The only sound he could make were gasps, and he gave a low one when his boss took his hips in his hands, alternating the pressure at one and the other in possessive squeezes.

MacMillan’s hand shot up, shocking the tech again when heavy fingers hooked around his throat. They tightened just barely before the hold shifted, trailing to the side of his neck so that the older man could shove the pad of his thumb up, just behind Dwight’s chin, right where supple skin met bone. It was sudden and though it wasn’t painful, the pressure wasn’t exactly comfortable. It was commanding and domineering, and it maneuvered his jaw to the side and restrained him there.

As best he could from the corner of his eye, Dwight watched the CEO’s brown eyes rove over him, from the rim of his glasses all the way down to his trembling thighs and back again. He couldn’t make out the thoughts behind them for how dark they were within such a stoic expression.

The finger pressed hard again, but his head couldn’t turn any farther. The stretch of the tendons in his neck seemed to be the alpha’s goal, however, because he took advantage of the position, hunching his back to shove his nose against the younger man’s throat and suck his scent in. The move was so brazen and _shameless_ that Dwight gasped again.

He was so caught up in the dizzying moment, in a reality he had formerly thought impossible—that, at long last, an alpha, especially the strong alpha before him, wanted him—that he didn’t register the way the fingers on him slipped backwards into his hair.

It felt as though, through his scenting, MacMillan had taken all the air from around them, all the air from _inside_ him, for his own consumption. It made Dwight gulp in a sharp breath of his own, one that made his quaking all the worse for how laden it was with the muscular man’s pheromones. Unwittingly, it sent his balance askew with how light the smell made his mind. His nature, seeking a place to lean his weight, and preferring it be what had made him so intoxicated in the first place, drew him forward. Without that hand anchoring him in place, he was free to move his face, to return the scenting given to him tenfold as his nose pressed against the alpha’s throat.

Dwight pushed it in harder, pivoting the cartilage in it almost audibly in an attempt to get closer and thus more of that smell into his system.

He only came back to himself when his boss straightened to his full height, knocking his glasses crooked as he did so. The tech lifted a hand to fix them, but MacMillan beat him there to remove them entirely.

Confused, the smaller man tried to say something, but only felt his lips open and shut. He tried again and managed, timidly, to say: “I won’t be able to see…”

“You don’t need to,” the other man’s gravel-like voice told him. He wasn’t as careless with the glasses as he’d been with Dwight’s clothes. The frames he set, carefully, off to the far side of his desk, out of his employee’s reach. Then, he ordered again: “Turn around. Hands on the desk.”

With the taller man’s pheromones making his brain feel afloat, and thus his thoughts and former reservations lost on the waves, the omega did as he was bid. He felt the floor shift under them, felt the frenzied beating of his heart, felt the building heat in the pit of his stomach, but most of all he felt the amused little chuckle and the gust of air it sent racing up his spine.

MacMillan’s touch settled around his flanks again, massaging and testing before moving right down to his hips and back to his ass. He took a cheek in each palm and squeezed and kneaded and _spread_.

Dwight wished he’d made a sound of protest, even of surprise, but instead he _whimpered_.

The big man pulled his cheeks apart again and his enjoyment was almost palpable just from the playful way he did it. “Arch your back.”

The tech did, as best he could since he’d never arched like this for someone before.

It must have been what the CEO wanted because he traced his thumbs over Dwight’s ass reverently before sliding one of his hands up the line of his spine. “Good.” The other hand followed.

The seeking fingers moved forward, calluses scraping wonderfully over the younger man’s nipples once and again. He must have followed the motion because they were pinched, somehow so delicately, between the rough pads of those big fingers. One palm splayed out, circling and rubbing over his pecs and down and up and around. The other dipped down, teased his side before taking ahold of his reddened dick.

Dwight sighed, relieved and unable to stop himself from hitching his hips forward.

MacMillan humored him, tugging the sensitive skin slowly. The omega had to look down, to see how those thick fingers wrapped around him—to see how they completely encompassed him.

And Dwight liked it. He liked how small he felt next to this man, against this man, being held by this man.

The pulls stopped. “Get on all fours on the desk.”

Dwight hesitated, not because of the demand, but because of the height of the desk. It looked fairly new, so MacMillan must have needed to order it to accommodate his abnormally large frame. He lifted one knee, just barely clearing the desktop, and the older man sensed the problem. He solved it by hooking his hand and wrist under the back of his dangling knee and hefted the omega up as if it were the most effortless thing he’d done all day.

The tech scrambled to nudge the keyboard and papers aside as delicately as he could, and almost laughed when the man behind him swept them away with his free arm. He had the exhilarated idea, what with the older man’s obvious interest in him, to joke about violence and technology regarding the clattering of the keyboard against the floor, but lost the moment when MacMillan positioned his body the way he wanted.

Dwight glanced up, and though he couldn’t make out the specifics of the office, he could make out the brown of the door and recall that he had not locked it behind him on his way in. He stared at it, senses cleared enough to recognize that at any moment his secretary could walk in.

_Anybody_ could walk in.

…And they’d walk in and see the CEO of the MacMillan corporation enjoying _him_. A lowly tech—no, an omega whose scent had intrigued the older man enough to call on him again the _next_ day. Whose scent had enticed him enough to spread him out naked on his desk for his viewing. For his pleasure.

Dwight trembled and bowed his head.

Behind him, the older man sat back in his chair, the leather creaking satisfyingly under his weight as he settled. Then the wheels rolled and MacMillan’s breath was dusting the back of his thighs and the curve of his ass cheeks.

The alpha’s hands skimmed from the back of his knees upwards, one ducking in to roll first the younger man’s penis between his fingers and then his balls. Dwight didn’t need to be told to arch his back this time. As if it were a reward, the stroking slipped back and up, folding into and following the line of his crack with sluggish admiration.

When a callus caught on his rim, the omega felt his pucker flutter.

MacMillan made a grumbly, thoughtful noise and did it again. And again.

Dwight groaned and felt his thighs part further, dipping his torso low to the desk as if that could amplify the pressure and pleasure.

That got a different sort of sound from his boss—a rugged, pleased one. His caress darted away, his thumbs returning to pull the omega’s cheeks apart. He held it for a moment and then, very purposefully, he sniffed the air.

Just as the alpha’s pheromones had excited Dwight, had made him submissive and complicit and obedient and turned on, his own had a similar effect on the other man. As the dominant partner, however, his excitement at the omega’s pheromones made him commanding and focused and somehow aggressively tender.

Above all, it made any remaining inhibitions non-existent.

MacMillan maneuvered him, forearms guiding him back and back until his knees felt the edge of the desktop. He tried to shuffle forward, but the other man gave a soft squeeze to his thighs and pulled him back again. Carefully, he guided Dwight’s legs until each of his knees were perched on the arms of his chair while his elbows and hands held his balance on the wooden desk.

And then, swift and purposeful, the older man pressed his face between Dwight’s ass cheeks and slathered his tongue in a wet, breathy circle around the hole hidden between.

The tech groaned, shoulders giving at the attention. The bigger man held his hips steady, held him balanced and open so he could continue lavishing the slick muscle over the smaller man’s hole, up and down his crack, tickling the back of his balls. Dwight canted his hips, offering it all, forgetting or no longer caring to check his beseeching moans.

He couldn’t think of a reason to care if anyone on the floor or the one below, or the one below that, could hear him cry out.

Besides, it was obvious MacMillan _wanted_ him to make noise with the way his tongue alternated between flicking the furled muscle of his hole to spearing at it, spreading it bit by bit until the tip could tease at his insides. Dwight wished he could reach back with his hand, take hold of that bald head and force him somehow deeper inside, but he didn’t want to throw off their balance. He didn’t want to slip and ruin even a second of their inappropriate moment.

The alpha’s tongue slipped in then, the younger man’s body loosened enough by arousal and spit and _need_ to allow it in. To _want_ it in and to want it _deep_.

It wasn’t enough, the slithering and undulating of it against his walls, inside and out. He needed it deeper, harder, he needed its thrusts faster and focused. It was a selfish, uncharacteristic desire for all that he’d never been like this with anyone before. But his body knew, and his body _demanded_.

His voice echoed that inner turmoil. “Please,” he breathed, “please?”

MacMillan’s jaw opened, his tongue flattening and then pointing to fuck back inside again. When it was at its deepest he pivoted his face back and forth, causing his tongue to _wiggle_ inside the tech.

“Ah!” Dwight yelped this time, wishing he had enough strength in his hands to drive his fingers straight through the wood beneath them. Anything to ground him against how such small actions spiked an almost all-encompassing heated pressure through him.

The mouth left him and, predictably, he whined at the loss. MacMillan skimmed his thumb over his pucker as a placation, though he was much more distracted by the wet, sucking sounds just behind his ass.

Then he was very distracted by the slick, wide finger that was pressing _into_ his ass.

Dwight heaved in a breath, as if mimicking the way his body sucked in the appendage with no need for him to force it to obey. No, it simply _reacted_. It knew and allowed the alpha’s finger in all the way passed the knuckle to bottom out. Encouraged, the older man pressed in his second. That was a tighter fit, a slower process, and yet one that yielded more pleasure than the first once his body welcomed it.

MacMillan worked him, his breath hot on the areas where wet, stretched muscle gripped at his flesh. His fingers moved in opposite directions, up and down and then in and out, testing and forcibly widening the give of his pucker. When it was no longer uncomfortable Dwight moaned and his alpha sunk them in.

They slipped out again, but before they could return, his boss added a third.

Unsure, considering two fingers had felt good enough, had required long moments for him to adjust, Dwight looked back behind him with pleading eyebrows.

MacMillan seemed to find him able, because he met his gaze only briefly before pressing in and spreading his asshole wider than it ever had been. It took longer than the second had, took much more coaxing, firm and insistent yet somehow tender. Dwight sighed in relief when his body relaxed, when his opening became greedy. When it was practically sucking at the three fingers inside of him.

The alpha fucked him that way, his digits unrelenting and searching. They twisted, not only as they entered him but while inside, the pads dragging over his walls as far as they could. On one of those drags, the touch caught his prostate and the sound drawn out of him was a whine several octaves above what he should’ve be capable.

He should have been mortified, and yet all he could think was to rock his hips to get it to happen again and again until he was screaming from the pleasure of it.

He didn’t scream, exactly, though he was moaning with each thrust of the girth inside him, with each spread of his fingers, with each wet squelch his muscle gave. MacMillan’s mouth fell upon one of his cheeks, teething the skin hard enough to leave marks. His free hand moved as well, enclosing Dwight’s cock in its rough grip. And somehow, somehow he enjoyed the hardened touch. Somehow, he rocked between it and those inside him without falling from either the desk or the chair on which he was perched so precariously.

And somehow, just before he could spill his pleasure, he got out a warning: “Sir—I-I’m…”

MacMillan jammed his fingers in, hooking them exactly where he knew the omega needed. And that stimulation on his prostate, more so than the hand jerking his dick, dragged his orgasm out of him, a near painful, tearing thing that had him scrambling for purchase so he could press back into the touches and drag out his enjoyment.

When the last of his seed had been milked, had been splattered over the dark wood of the desk, Dwight slunk down to rest his cheek on his forearms.

His boss let him remain there, though he withdrew his hands in order to guide the smaller man’s legs down so that his feet found the floor safely. There was a beat and then the sound of the bigger man’s leather chair rolling back maybe a foot or so. The tech remained half over the desk, panting to regain his breath, panting to regain his lucidness. Just beneath him, just next to where his hands rested flat on the surface, his seed lay thick and milky and in stark contrast to the expensive wood.

He turned his head to apologize, but even half blind as he was, he could see where the alpha had freed his dick from his slacks. Could see the lazy movement of his hand and wrist as he pulled at the thick appendage.

His dark eyes were just as easy to make out within his face. Especially with the way they held Dwight’s.

Without uttering a word, the omega was compelled to turn, to drop to his knees between those huge spread legs. MacMillan put his hands to the armrests and watched and waited, head tilted.

Dwight, eager to give pleasure as he had been given, to please as he had been, put his hands to the alpha’s inner thighs. Although they quivered against the strong muscles, he steeled himself and dragged them inwards, slowing as he neared the other man’s cock.

Here he hesitated, but only because of its size and the deep flush to it. And maybe the fact that Dwight had never sucked a dick before in his life. He wanted to say as much but was distracted when a heavy hand cupped the side of his head. MacMillan’s expression was expectant and the quick darting of his eyes to his engorged length and then back to the smaller man’s face made his desire clear without the need for words.

The employee averted his eyes and raised his hands, taking the massive dick in his dominant palm to test the weight of it, the give of the skin, the protrusion of its veins. He had to add his second hand in order to circle it properly, in a way that would give the older man the most stimulation. He did that for several long moments, building up the momentum as well as his courage.

Then, with one last, quick glance up, he lowered his mouth to kiss just above his fingers against the velvety skin. The second kiss he opened his mouth, the third he added his tongue, and by the fourth he’d given up the pretense of a kiss. By then he was nuzzling and licking up its length, astounded by how heavy it was resting against his face. And yet, that thought didn’t worry him as it once might have. It didn’t slow him. It didn’t stop him from widening his jaw and taking the fat cockhead into his mouth to suck.

It tasted of salt and sweat. It felt of hard lines and spongy flesh. It smelt of musk and coal and _alpha_.

Dwight sucked, his cheeks hollowing and eyes shutting as he pumped with his hands. He experimented, using his memories of pornos since they were really his only experience. He swirled his tongue around the outer edge of his dick, flicking and dipping it under the ridges and into the slit. All the while MacMillan’s fingers encouraged him in their directed, soft strokes.

The man above him didn’t moan, barely made a sound save for the deepening of his breathing. The omega took that as a sign of his enjoyment just as much as the tightening in his hair. He wanted more, wanted to know if he _could_ get a sound out of the big man so when he was urged down, he went with it. He tried to open his mouth as well as he could, tried to flatten his tongue along the hard underside of the cock nudging insistently at the back of his throat, tried to swallow and accept it.

He failed and gagged. MacMillan withdrew a few inches, let him catch his breath, and then pressed back into him. Dwight’s gag reflex twitched again, tears slipping out of the corner of his eyes. This time, his alpha didn’t pull back as far, but that was a good thing because the tech didn’t want him to.

No, he wanted exactly what his boss gave him: he wanted to calm his spasms enough to get that dick deeper into his mouth and throat, he wanted to ease his breathing in through his nostrils so he could be held and kept in place, he wanted to swallow and moan and jerk his hands around the length.

He wanted and he got and he slobbered and slathered and choked, determined and heady and wishing he could keep pleasing the man above him. Wishing he could get him panting as badly as he had. Wishing he could have made him groan and grunt instead of spilling in intense silence. Wishing he could have another chance at it.

MacMillan’s dick twitched in his mouth, practically vibrating against his tongue as he emptied his seed directly into the younger man’s throat. Unfortunately, there was so much of it that Dwight found it hard to swallow it all and, rather than gag again, he withdrew to try to suck the remainder of his alpha’s seed from the head.

The older man had another idea, pulling free and enclosing his employee’s hand with his own, using it to jerk the last bit of spend up and out to land directly on the omega’s cheek, just beneath his eye.

Dwight moved his hands once he was released, resting them again on those thighs to steady himself as he waited, unsure as to whether he could move or not. Unsure as to whether either of them wanted him to.

MacMillan’s nostrils were flaring, and the tech took pride in that. He also took pride in the way the alpha’s hand cupped his face again, the way his thumb wiped away his seed to offer it to the smaller man’s mouth. The way he sucked it in and licked it clean.

His boss was proud, too. “Good.”

The tech was hard again, but the urgency, the ardor that had built between them had cooled. It felt as though his head had found a mooring, one that he tied himself to, fast, that he might come to terms with what they’d just done. That he might be disgusted or horrified with himself.

And yet even without those waves rocking and crashing against him, sending him adrift, he felt good. Better than good. Because he’d been wanted.

He couldn’t help the little laugh that bubbled out of him, even as he held the gaze of the man above him.

MacMillan lifted an eyebrow in question, but it wasn’t one Dwight could answer.

He was spared from it when the alpha’s phone rang. Somehow during their activities, it hadn’t been completely wiped from the desk, though his boss did have to drag his chair away from him to reach it. He answered gruffly, though his voice betrayed nothing of the last few minutes. And then, then he simply tucked himself away and began discussing with whomever was on the other end of the line as if he hadn’t just cum onto a young employee’s face. As if his tongue hadn’t just been up some omega’s ass. As if Dwight hadn’t been offering himself up as he never had before.

There was a sudden sharp pain in his chest, as if a shard of shame had pierced him. From where, he couldn’t tell, but it was enough to have him shuffling back and gathering his clothes. He donned them as quickly as he could, forgoing knotting his tie so that he could get out of the room all the faster.

Just like when he’d entered, a heavy stare followed his rushed form out.

It had been Tuesday when Dwight had lost his virginity. Two and a half days later on Friday he was still thinking about it. Which, _of course_ he was. He’d been thinking about it every minute since it happened. He’d been _agonizing_ over it. He’d taken turns feeling foolish, desperate, confused, and horny. And the fact that he’d had to masturbate every night at least once (and _three times last night_ ) was even worse.

He was mortified, even sitting and staring at his computer screen. Even though none of his coworkers knew. Even though none of the world knew. Or would ever know. He wondered at that, too. Had it technically been losing his virginity? He’d had another man’s tongue and fingers inside him, so that’s what counted, right?

The most important question was whether it had mattered at all. Two and a half days passed and nothing in his life, save not having a direct superior, had changed. For everything that had happened, he’d gone back to being invisible, hidden away in the IT department to work behind the scenes.

Had it just been MacMillan wanting to assert dominance because he’d smelled an omega?

…Why did Dwight want to pretend it was anything but that?

If he told anybody what happened they’d call him a liar. Maybe they’d listen to his outlandish story and laugh about his obvious fantasy later behind his back. Maybe in a year or so he’d believe it had been one, too.

He didn’t like the thought of that, but with no way of changing it, he opted to distract himself with work. Unfortunately, Fridays were notoriously slow because the majority of workers were ready to go home for the weekend, even by 10AM. Not to mention the weather outside was so warm it made their office stifling.

The most frustrating thing was that none of his coworkers seemed to agree with him and the only article of clothing he could tastefully discard was his tie. _And_ he was only brave enough to undo the top two buttons of his dress shirt.

So, he sat and typed and e-mailed and tried not to think about how MacMillan’s scent was still clinging to his nostrils. How he purposefully hadn’t washed his clothes from that day so he could smell the coal and musk and alpha a little bit longer. He tried not to think about how solid that body had felt. How the sight of _his_ own had made it react.

Obviously, he failed. Badly. And he hated that because he knew it was only him plagued by the thoughts.

“Yeah, we can send him up,” one of his coworkers said behind him. Dwight turned to look just in time to see him put the phone down, wondering how he’d missed it ringing. “Guess the president’s having issues again.”

The omega pinched his dress shirt and started to fan it, trying to alleviate the heat collecting under it and stop his sweat from beading. “You can go up,” he deflected, “or anyone, really.”

“He asked for you, _again_ ,” his coworker enunciated with apparent envy.

And Dwight, rather than explain or be subjected to his coworkers’ jealousy, or worst of all be _fired_ , once again got on the elevator. The secretary didn’t even look up at him as he passed. She had headphones on and waved him through because she’d been expecting him.

Once inside, just as he did before, he stuck close to the door, hand balled into a fist at his side but ready to fling it open and flee if need be.

And, just as before, the president was at his desk. This time there was a phone in his hand. He was speaking to one of his board members, maybe, because though it was still gruff, it wasn’t entirely dismissive. Or, at least, it wasn’t until his eyes fell on Dwight.

“Are we done? You’ve got the information you need.” There was a pause and he took it to gauge his employee from afar. With one last affirmative grunt into the phone he ended the call and stood.

He stepped out from behind his desk. His suit jacket was hanging on the back of his chair and Dwight’s eyes were immediately drawn down to the way his dress shirt was rolled up his massive forearms and then further to the way his thighs flexed as he took one more step. He hated that, how badly he wanted to look, but knew it was better than making eye contact. Easier for whatever the older man had planned—he’d fired a man who had worked for his father and his company for years, after all. What worth was some lowly omega?

But MacMillan simply said: “You didn’t come to me.”

Dwight’s head snapped up so fast he was surprised his neck didn’t crack.

“Why?”

The tech blanched, staring openly at the bigger man, his earlier frets and pessimisms swirling in his mind. “Come to you?” And how should he have done that? Had this alpha expected him to just get on the elevator and waltz right into his office in full view of everyone?

“Yes,” the older man said instead of clarifying. “Come here.”

The employee put his hand on the doorknob instead, too shaken to process the command. It didn’t help that this room seemed hotter than the IT department so many floors below.

“Dwight.”

His hand trembled.

“Lock the door and come here.”

He obeyed, though the few feet he crossed to get to the other man felt like a mile. What’s more is that it felt as though he had ankle weights on, slogging his steps and making the room feel at once gigantic and claustrophobic. By the time he reached MacMillan, he was embarrassed to find himself reaching out for his help.

The alpha snatched him close.

His pheromones were immediate, as if raging to crawl back inside him and surround his brain and heart and lungs. Dwight didn’t know where to put his hands and considering he was being held at his biceps he could only bend at the elbow and try to touch the older man’s forearms.

He tilted his head up and felt his glasses slide across the sweat on the bridge of his nose. “I have to go home,” he murmured, “I’m sick.”

MacMillan hunched down, bringing his scarred face close. The tech tried to focus on it, tried to follow the pretty, silver lines laced across it from their origin to end. But it was hard to do that when they were so close, when the alpha made them even closer so he could suck the air from right off Dwight’s neck.

He did it again, loudly. Then he stepped back and held the shorter man at arm’s length. He corrected his employee’s statement: “You’re in heat.”

That didn’t make much sense to Dwight because he wasn’t due for another month, _at least_. Though it was starting to be hard to make sense of anything, let alone remembering his cycles. It seemed much easier to lean forward, to let the scent he’d been so forlorn without pervade his senses and take control.

Before he could press his face into that hot, hard chest like he wanted, MacMillan directed him to the desk. Unlike last time, the older man immediately bent him over it and kept him there, both his thick arms and legs trapping him in place. Only then did he get those muscles against him, albeit in a way that made it impossible for him to feel like he wanted.

Dwight braced himself and looked down to see if his semen had stained the wood. He couldn’t focus, however, and he wasn’t sure why the disappointment felt so palpable.

MacMillan’s hand skated up his arm, over his shoulder, and then it was like the omega’s body was on autopilot for how in sync he moved to aid in his undressing. His boss did it swiftly, did it without teasing, did it only with intent and obvious want. And it felt good to have that again, to have those eyes and hands on him.

It felt good to be good for them.

The last thing to go were his glasses, but he didn’t protest as he had the first time. He just pushed them even further away and canted back his head, eager to have those calluses dragging up and down his chest and teasing him again. Unfortunately, his wish was short lived—MacMillan dragged one hand down his front and then took hold of his hips to flip him around.

Dwight went easily and far too quickly. He had to grip the edge of the desk to steady himself but was more grateful when those big hands cupped the back of his neck and skull to do it for him. He rested back and trusted his weight in them. He trusted them even more when they brought him forward, when he could press his cheek against a firm pectoral.

The omega took advantage of the new position, shifting his weight so he could bring his fingers to the buttons hiding everything away from his eyes. The older man’s fingers stroked him, as if in reward for his initiative. Just as their body mass was different, so too was their skin. Dwight could have guessed from the miniscule marks on his face, but the jagged silver and pink scars underneath the other man’s clothes were not something he expected.

There were small ones crossing over his body here, small and expansive and interconnected, but the deep ones drew his eyes. And his fingers. “What happened?” he asked, his voice a cottony murmur.

MacMillan didn’t answer, rather he seemed to challenge the other man by casting his shirt aside entirely. Dwight didn’t know if he was flexing or not, but still he was drawn to touch the tight pectorals. From there he traced the skin up to the one of the scars, felt the smooth tissue and the difference between it and his normal skin.

The older man didn’t let him linger for long. He seemed to understand the moment better than the omega. Roughly, he grabbed Dwight by the back of his neck and drew him close, practically mashing their torsos together. The tech floundered with his arms for a moment before he managed to wrap them around the thick body. There were scars on the skin of his back, too, and while he shoved his face into that warm chest and scented, he sought out the misshapen lines with his fingers.

His boss held his neck, held _him_ , and he was right for it. The scent infiltrating his nostrils felt almost tangible as it wormed its way around the inside of his head and then down to electrify the rest of his body. He felt it from the inside out, the way his innards seemed to quake so strongly his skin vibrated with it. The way his groin went rigid and wet all at once. Standing here as he was, nude and restrained and grasping, there was no doubt about his heat. No doubt about the slick beading down the inside of his thighs.

MacMillan must have smelled it, because he reached down as if he knew exactly where it was and swiped it up with two of his fingers. Those he brought to his face and, after tilting up Dwight’s, licked the wetness away. They both already knew he liked the taste of the younger man, but to see it this time caused the computer specialist’s knees to buckle.

The alpha had him, used his weight to bully him around, to press him up against the desk and rub against him there. When he moved away it was only for a moment, only to deafen the room with the sound of his zipper dragging down. He moved back in, that giant cock hot where it pressed against Dwight’s lower back.

The angle was off and the tech almost bemoaned their height differences before the other man spun him around _again_. Just as he had the other day, he hefted Dwight up, only this time it was his back against the desk, not his hands and knees. Though, still, the latter he spread readily, grateful when the big man stepped between them. Propped at this height it was easier for his boss’ dick to slide through his slick, to slip over his crack and perineum and balls.

A solid hand dropped to his chest, held him down, made him squirm, while the other went searching in one of the drawers. After a bit of rummaging, it came back, a small bottle of lube clenched tightly within it. It looked new and Dwight preened at the thought that their tryst had been the impetus for its purchase.

MacMillan popped it open with his thumb, pouring the liquid directly onto his cock. He had to release the omega to smear it there, eyes on his employee’s face as he watched the motion. Then he shifted, dragging the omega forward and angling his legs back, hitching his ass wide and open and waiting so he could aim the bottle to pour the lube directly against his opening. His first finger slipped in easily. The second, surprisingly, did too, and Dwight marveled at the acceptance of his body, of its willingness and desire to suck in everything it was given. The lube helped with the third, because as hot as he was, they still had to be patient and wait, an indistinct but agonizing bout of seconds, for his muscle to prepare for the older man’s girth.

When he started moaning, his boss slipped his fingers free and replaced it with the head of his cock.

With a start, Dwight bent at his waist and pushed his hands against defined abs. “A condom,” he croaked. “You need a condom—I’ll get pregnant.”

“Yes,” the alpha said, pressing in. “You will.”

The tech gasped, eyes wide and yet… and yet his hands fell away, arms spread far on the desk as he collapsed backwards at the fullness, at the stretch, at the little shocks of pleasure. At the way he _wanted_.

The CEO slid in gradually but steady, forceful but gentle somehow all at once. He slid in like he was filling a place Dwight hadn’t realized was empty. Or was it only empty because of his heat? Did it matter when he ached so badly to have it stuffed full?

It was more than the omega ever thought he could have—ever thought he _would_ have inside of him. He gave a low broken moan at it, at the depth of it, at the closeness of this man who hovered so bodily above him. And when the thrusting started, he had to wonder how he’d ever want anything but this now that he’d experienced it.

MacMillan was easing him into it. He’d had to have known the omega beneath him had never been touched so thoroughly as he’d been earlier that week. He knew he was the first one inside of him. The first one to stretch him. To claim him.

And that’s how it felt, truly. It felt as those everything below was opening for his dick and welcoming it in the most audibly arousing way. Dwight had never thought to hear his body like this, his skin catching on the wood, his sweat making him slide, his body _sucking_ another man inside him.

He wished he was coherent enough to work through why it felt so good, but the cloying heat made his lack of lucidity feel perfect and right. The burn of his face and body, the burn of the desire in his gut, the burn of the pleasure sparking from deep inside him and rushing to the very tips of his toes and fingers in overwhelming convulsions felt _right_.

MacMillan had him by the hips, pulling his cock from within him slowly, inadvertently letting the omega feel the way his opening gripped and hugged on his skin to feel every vein. So focused was he on the weight of it, on the hardness of it, on its piston-like movement it was as if he could memorize it by feel alone. …If he hadn’t already with both eyes and tongue only a few days prior.

When the thrusting increased, when it got fast and hard and wild, Dwight tried to wrap his legs around that thick waist. He tried to hold steady and give the muscular man resistance to enjoy. But the sweat slicking his body made him glide over the tabletop, made him scared he wasn’t returning the pleasure, made him scared he wasn’t pleasing the alpha.

He reached out, groping blindly until his fingers found flexing knuckles. He trailed up from there, grabbing forearms and clinging, trying to pull himself upright. The older man pitied him after a few more undulations and loped an arm around him to drag him up. Dwight went with the motion, practically threw his arms out and around those huge shoulders to stay close.

And then, brave or foolish, he mashed his mouth to his boss’.

MacMillan froze against him, his grip faltering on the younger man’s hips to hover in the air in awkward confusion.

Dwight moved away, just a fraction, and wondered. Sex wasn’t the question; no, he wondered, rather, if the taciturn boss had been kissed? He must have, but how long had it been? Months? Years?

As stiff as he seemed, the omega couldn’t fathom continuing their embrace or tryst or rut or whatever they would call it without being kissed. Like he wanted to be kissed. So he did it again, close mouthed but urgent. MacMillan seemed immobilized, but then, then he returned the pressure, a nudge of his lips not so different from an unsure youth attempting their first kiss.

Dwight tried to repeat it, but his boss seemed to have problems with their slackened pace. He hoisted the younger man off his desk entirely, slipping free in the process and leaving the tech’s hole gaping and grasping at the emptiness.

MacMillan didn’t leave him empty for long. Instead he switched their position, hosting the omega into his arms so that they could land back in his wide, leather chair together. He dragged his hands forward after that, resting them on Dwight’s thighs and looking to him, seemingly content with the knowledge that the younger man needed the closeness. It may have been something his nature sensed, something it knew about these sort of couplings.

Dwight didn’t care to think about that, he just cared about how needy he felt. How physically close he wanted to be to that strong body. How hot and rough and different it was as he rubbed against it, as he hoisted his hips up and reached back to spread himself open. To spear himself wide again.

He let his boss take control of everything below, grateful that in this new position he could put his arms over the older man’s shoulders, that he could keep his head angled up and kiss desperately at a clenched jawline, at a straining throat, at lips that were sluggishly starting to respond. He opened his mouth to moan at a particularly deep thrust and the alpha took advantage of it as if he could taste the sound as it heaved out of his throat. It was messy and fast and all tongues, barely a kiss and mostly a feast. Somehow, he didn’t think it should feel so good to be devoured, but it did.

Above and below, it did.

It was a tight fit, with his knees trapped on either side of the big man’s thighs. It forced MacMillan’s wide palms and fingers to dig into the bunched skin where his hips and thighs met, to squeeze that ample flesh and direct his lower body into grinding undulations, into sensual circular movements that forced the huge dick inside him to rub against his inner walls, to press long and hard into his prostate.

That drew his mouth away, forced his head back so he groaned up at the ceiling. “Yes! Please…” He was begging the alpha, but it was _his_ hips that kept humping and his mouth that kept kissing and his fingers that kept roving.

His rocking was so wild, so intent on maintaining the heated, roiling waves surging through him that it was no surprise at how quickly his body grew fatigued. He tried to put his face against MacMillan’s shoulder, but the luster of sweat on his cheek caused him to slip. He felt almost pathetic, grappling at the older man’s body in silent plea.

The CEO took his sides firmly, used his dry grip to somehow spin the smaller man around. The lube made the movement pleasurable, made him moan at the way he was brandished to the open space of the office, the way he was put on display to the empty space. Thick hands slipped under his trembling, tired legs and _lifted_. And it was so effortless for him, to hoist Dwight’s weight with his arms alone, up and down and again and again to build up their rhythm.

The omega tried to gasp, found the sound sticking along the walls of his throat to leave him gurgling and panting. The fucking turned animalistic, turned rushed and frantic and perfect. It turned Dwight into a panting, shivering mess unsure how to handle the sensations running through him. They were stronger than he’d ever felt, unexpected with no way to track them for how out of control he felt regarding his own body.

MacMillan was the one in control. He was the one marking him. He was the one sparking these physical and emotional reactions. He was the one pounding him to completion.

Dwight shifted his feet, planted them on the armrests to counteract the thrusts with the downward gravitational pull of his weight. The alpha appreciated that, let him know it with a guttural sound, let him know it by using his newfound balance to trace his hand forward, to grip the omega’s purple cock between his fingers and stroke.

And that was too much. The jerking, the smacking of his ass against the bigger man’s hips, the piston of his jackhammering cock inside him, the grind and punch against his prostate. And then, just before he could say anything his hole was forced wider.

MacMillan was grunting and shoving his hips up, pushing his knot into the receptive omega.

Dwight sobbed brokenly and arched back, clinging to the alpha’s arms as that bulging bundle of nerves shoved and pushed and pulsed against his insides. Those arms gave him what he wanted, too—they stopped his motions to coil about him, to hold him fierce and immobile so he could turn his grinding hard and purposeful.

The first spurt of cum, the first of what he knew to be so much more, made the tech’s eyes roll back in his head. Made his body twitch at the depravity of it, at the knowledge of how deep it was shooting, at how filthy it was that he wanted to be filled and dripping with it. Made him orgasm without a touch to his cock.

It was more painful and satisfying than anything he’d ever felt and by the end of it he’d sullied his chest and face with the force of his emissions.

MacMillan gave a pleased grumble just behind his ear and kept hold once his employee’s weight went lax against him. Dwight remained there, feeling every pulse through that knot, every burst of cum that slickened his insides white. He whimpered and moaned at each, at every slight move the older man inadvertently made.

He tried to calm himself by reaching his arm back and looping it around the alpha’s neck.

“Good,” his boss soothed. He worked a hand down his front and through his cum so he could bring it back up to his lips. When the fluid was cleaned away, he gave praise again: “Good.”

Warmed by it, Dwight turned his face, wanting to kiss or be kissed, to feel some sort of tenderness against his skin. MacMillan caught his jaw with his hand, however, and turned his head in the opposite direction. Only then did his nose press against his neck, the broad tip of it trailing down to where the soft skin met his shoulder. There he inhaled, long and loud and the submissive man closed his eyes, exultant to hear it.

MacMillan drank his pheromones in, at times audibly as if he was enamored with them. Maybe he was with the way he followed the path with his tongue. And then, with one last fierce intake of breath, he opened his mouth and sank his teeth into the omega’s skin until it bled.

Dwight cried out, gripping tight to the back of that bald head in shattered surprise. The pain that pierced him was sharp and pleasurable, as sharp and pleasurable as the big man had felt inside him. He sobbed at the sting, at the bead of blood that sluiced down his shoulder. He sobbed more at the way his cock bobbed, half-softened and yet still leaking out what cum it could in explosive response to the claiming.

The alpha’s mouth only released him after he’d stopped twitching to lick him clean.

This time he was the one to turn the tech’s face to the side, to nuzzle aggressively against his jaw and cheek. His breath smelled of copper and sex. He kept his employee there, caressing and searching and observing for long, long minutes. Far longer than his orgasm. Far longer than necessary for his knot to deflate. Far longer than they needed to stay locked together.

But Dwight returned the hold, stroking the bald skin beneath one hand and the scarred forearm under the other.

Finally, MacMillan lifted and dislodged him, hurried to stand him up and lean him against the desk. Then he tapped his foot against one of his ankles and forced his legs together. “Clench,” he ordered.

Chastised and mortified, Dwight did. He kept his head bowed, kept his mouth silent as he was wiped clean. The alpha did it in a perfunctory manner, but after he finished with the blood he trailed his hand down the line of his employee’s spine.

It was enough to entice the warmth into his body again.

From there things blurred together—MacMillan had to help his exhausted limbs into his clothing. He even bowed low to replace his discarded shoes. Only then did he redress himself. Dwight wanted to watch, wanted to say something, but he gradually felt his fatigue winning with every beat of his satisfied heart. Slowly he crumpled to the floor, curling up against the side of the desk as his boss watched.

His phone rang, but this time he pressed a button to silence it. Then he crouched low in front of the tech and held out his glasses.

Dwight put them back in place and met the huge man’s eyes. “…I have to go home…” He needed to bathe and rest. He needed to nest and stay out of sight and smell for the next few days. He needed to keep this memory fresh in his mind to sate himself again and again until he was human once more.

“No,” the alpha said gruffly.

“Y-yes?” the younger man half-asked. “I can’t stay here.”

“You can’t,” the CEO agreed. He put a hand to Dwight’s shoulder and squeezed gently, eyes trapped on the way the blood from his mark stained the fabric. Then he raised him to his feet, an arm around his waist while he reached his hand out to shut down his computer and retrieve his suit jacket and briefcase.

Then they were exiting together, their steps stunted by the omega’s stumbling gait.

“I’m leaving,” the president told his secretary. “I won’t be back until Wednesday; you’ll inform the others. Call down to IT; it’s the same for Dwight Fairfield.”

“Yes, sir,” his subordinate said immediately, eyes aimed only at her computer screen.

_Epilogue_

Dwight wasn’t sure how his boss had known he rode a bike to work, nor how he’d remembered to get it before they left. He wasn’t sure how his absence was explained to his roommates. He wasn’t sure how to handle being pampered and fucked throughout his heat. He wasn’t sure how to handle nuzzling so close to a man he’d never seen before that week.

He wasn’t sure how to handle the bond mark that ached so deliciously at the base of his neck.

Ultimately, he didn’t end up having a choice. The alpha had been correct in estimating the number of days for his heat. By that Tuesday Dwight felt more coherent. He felt more like himself. He felt brave enough to ask questions of the man who’d taken him so decisively.

MacMillan humored him with stunted answers. He was never cruel, and though they didn’t leave each other’s company in those days, he was somewhat aloof. Even so, his eyes always followed his young mate as he explored his surroundings.

Needless to say, Dwight had been flabbergasted by the size of the alpha’s mansion. The room that had acted as their den had been about triple the size of his bedroom, so he really shouldn’t have been. Still, he’d never been in such a large place in his life and it was hard not to marvel at the architecture, nor the grand decoration, of it all.

He’d wanted to see it all, but MacMillan hadn’t let him and while Dwight had been initially confused, it became clear why the next day. And the following. And the next and the next until the days turned to weeks and months.

MacMillan had gone back to work, but the younger man hadn’t.

“There won’t be a need,” he’d been told.

Dwight hadn’t understood it then, nor had he understood how his apartment lease was settled before his contract was up. Or why. He hadn’t understood how his things came boxed and packaged neatly in the front hall for him to collect and sort. He hadn’t understood how the alpha had _known_ what was his. He hadn’t understood why he was given his own room and yet led to the alpha’s bed every night.

He hadn’t understood for weeks. Not until he’d started throwing up.

Then it was easy to see. To connect the dots.

The hard part was feeling as incensed as he _should_ have felt.

Especially when he relearned MacMillan’s first name. Especially when he started _saying_ it without nary a sideways glance.

And when he started touching the big man outside of the bedroom, gently on the arm or his side and _Evan_ didn’t pull away.

And when, a couple months in, he got that stern face to smile over a silly little joke. And then again over a compliment. And then more frequently from there.

It was hard not to like that.

It was hard to pretend he was unhappy or that things were unfair when he had someone to share a bed with at night. When he was gifted with that rare praise. When a big hand cupped his growing belly.

It was hard to even remember that he’d never wanted to be pregnant.

And so, at six months, with his stomach stretched and his walk near a waddle, he _didn’t_.

Though, there was one aspect that had been hard to adjust to. Ever since he had left home to live on his own he’d been living paycheck to paycheck. He’d lived on rice or junk food to survive. He’d worked multiple jobs to keep his place in a dingy apartment with two other people.

Now, he worried for nothing. He had no bills to pay and no food to buy. Hell, he hadn’t even needed to cook due to the staff his mate employed. And now he had all the space in the world to wander and lose himself.

And the only thing that nagged at him was the guilty, listless feeling he had when his mate came home with tight shoulders and a pursed forehead. Evan never demanded anything of him, but the expectations were there. Dwight barely noticed the severity of them for how eager he was to touch his alpha. To rub his muscles and know they were for him.

So, today, when he heard the front door open from where he’d been sat in Evan’s drawing room, he rose immediately. He tucked his feet quickly into his slippers and made his way down the hall across the marble floors. When he made it to the bannister, his lover was standing by the door, removing his shoes and the coat he wore to ward off the winter chill.

Dwight put his hand on the railing, avoiding the garland he insisted they wrap around it. They’d had to go buy some, plus other festive decorations, because apparently the big man had barely celebrated the holiday season. He was humoring his young mate, and the omega had been glad for the distraction the decorating had provided. And for the color and cheer it gave every room.

At the bottom of the stairs it was easier to see the annoyance on the other man’s face. To see the tension in his body.

Dwight smiled anyway and reached out for his hand. “Evan,” he welcomed. “He was kicking today.” He intended to put that big palm to his belly, although their child had long since calmed, but those thick arms shot out and drew him in, faster than he could protest.

The CEO pressed his face into the smaller man’s hair and breathed him in. After he’d gotten his fill, he stepped away briskly and tugged his mate across the foyer. He called one of his staff to trail them as he walked to one of their sitting rooms. Once inside he guided Dwight onto one of the couches and pointed at the unlit fireplace.

The man he’d called set to it, fumbling a bit under the pointed and impatient stare as he worked. But eventually the fire flared to life and the man retreated safely.

Dwight tried not to smile, remembering how he’d felt much the same around his former boss not too long ago. The alpha didn’t seem to notice, though. He stared at the flames for a moment before dropping into one of the large chairs. After a moment he turned his eyes on his mate and motioned him over.

The omega obeyed and slid his fingers up the arms that reached out for him. He was going to ask after his day, but Evan’s fingers felt along his sides, slipping under his shirt to hike it up over his belly. He stared for long moments before looking up.

“Do you know you stained my desk?”

Dwight did know. He also knew this meant his lover’s day hadn’t been bad, but that he’d been distracted. He stepped closer, raising his arms to toss away his top. “I did?” He dropped his fingers to the older man’s shoulders and dug them in and out. “…Does it still smell like me?”

“No,” Evan said, loosening the knot on his joggers and pulling them down. The omega was bare underneath, and his alpha was obviously pleased by this if the reverent way he massaged his thighs was any indication. He ducked his head down to press his nose to his lover’s pubic hair, to scent his arousal from just above the source.

“Evan,” Dwight pleaded softly, touching his scalp gently. His lover heard and answered by ducking lower, by swallowing his soft cock and working it firm with the slick coaxing of his tongue and the gentle sucking of his throat.

It didn’t take long. Evan was hard by the time he withdrew, but still the pregnant man lowered to his knees, eager to free him from his confines and suck him down. Or, as best he could. No matter how often they’d done this and how the omega had come to enjoy the act, he still had to use his hands for a good amount of his lover’s thick cock.

Evan took his time, thrusting lazily into his mouth and between his hands. There was a knock at the door, their cook announcing dinner, but the alpha waved him off with a rather angry growl that sent shivers down his mate’s back. The disruption didn’t make him wilt, but he transferred the frustration to holding Dwight’s head still as he fucked into his mouth.

Inevitably, the smaller man gagged, drool seeping from the corners of his mouth as he focused on breathing through his nose. Evan drew him back then, gathering his spit on his big fingers. Dwight rose without prompting and turned, holding himself open so his lover could slide his saliva-slicked digits where they belonged.

“You want it,” his mate declared.

“Yes,” he hissed back, knowing he didn’t need to say how much.

Those two fingers twisted and spread inside of him, squelching and pulling for how quickly his slobber had dried. Evan pulled them out once he saw that the friction had begun to border on painful and set his mouth to the pucker, alternating licking and sucking on the rim. The younger man keened, pulling his cheeks wider so that the hot mouth on him had no obstructions.

He could feel the drool slipping down his crack, catching on the back of his balls to drip down onto the floor below.

Evan pulled away and wiped his chin, moving the omega’s hands so he could squeeze his lover’s plump ass. “Lie down.”

Dwight did as he was commanded, lying on his side on the plush couch and drawing his legs to the side. It was getting harder to be positioned the way he wanted – on his back and spread wide so that the older man could see _everything_ – but if the alpha never complained, he wouldn’t either. He’d just yearn for the future when he’d be man handled as he’d been all those months ago yet again.

His lover returned to him with a bottle of lube in his hand. It was the one they’d had to hide away for how often Dwight enjoyed being taken with the sound of the fire crackling in tandem to his mate’s forceful, wet thrusts.

And that’s what his alpha wanted him to hear that day because he was sloppy with the amount he poured over the former tech’s opening, so much so that Dwight had to reach out and scoop it all back up where it belonged, pushing the excess deep inside while the older man watched him. He stroked his own dick slick in tandem to the lazy thrusts of his mate’s fingers before yanking them away to sink home.

He lifted one of his knees to the couch, letting his other foot remain on the floor to give him the leverage he needed to start fucking down into his willing partner. Dwight moaned, excited when one of his legs was lifted and propped against his mate’s torso so his dick could reach ever deeper.

Evan’s eyes watched the way his body rocked against the cushions. The only time his stare was interrupted were the moments he decided to set his teeth to the ankle near his face.

Dwight gasped, pillowing his head on one of his arms so he could watch the flexing undulations of that huge body. He liked watching his abs move beneath his scarred skin as he took him. He liked watching his ribs expand and contract with his faster, excited intakes.

But most of all he liked when Evan lowered his leg back down so he could fold over the younger man to kiss him and set his hands upon him. When they swooped over the curve of his stomach, where their child lay, Dwight desperately reached to cover them, to hold them there so they could both feel the fruition of his breeding.

“Fill me again,” Dwight whispered.

His alpha growled and quickened the pace, pumping his entire body forward, so much so that it almost felt as though the couch was moving with the force. With each swift thrust the veins on his long cock rolled over Dwight’s prostate, building his pleasure more and more until his head was lolled back, mouth open and the sounds of his need bounced between the walls.

Evan’s hand swiped once more over his belly and then he was lost, his cock jumping with the force of his cum jettisoning away from them to stain the carpet below. His lover rumbled his approval, grinding his hips to prolong his young mate’s orgasm. When Dwight’s body went boneless, he readjusted his stance so that he could fuck into him and find his own completion.

The omega wished he could do more than stroke the hand burning into his skin, could murmur more than just his quiet, begging encouragements even though he knew it didn’t matter. He knew the pleasure Evan found in his body. It was evident whenever he looked at him, whenever those dark eyes fell to the swell of his stomach or the plump curve of his ass and thighs.

And now he gripped those places, stroked them fervently as he thrust again and again until he could do nothing but sink in until his balls prevented him from going any further and spill his load to stain Dwight’s insides.

Evan rocked a few more times before hunching over, setting his hands on the cushions to hold up his weight and remain buried inside. The younger man took advantage, craning up almost painfully to kiss him. The alpha held still, eyes closed against the tender administrations as he worked to calm his breathing.

Fed up with the position, Dwight shifted, dislodging their union so he could sit up shakily and put his arms around the bigger man to nuzzle into his neck.

His former boss kept his chin up, allowed the scenting, and then put a hand to the smaller man’s back to support his weight. The other he dropped to his stomach.

Dwight shifted them, forced the alpha to cradle him in his arms so that he could press his ear to his chest and listen to his heartbeat. After a moment he, once again, covered the hand over their child. “He kicked today,” he said, repeating his earlier news.

“He?”

“Yeah,” the omega said, tilting his head up.

Evan regarded him for a moment. “We’ll get an ultrasound.”

“If you want,” Dwight said, obediently, “but I know it’s a boy.” Because he knew how much the alpha wanted it to be. And maybe somewhere deep inside he knew why, knew the why of it _all_ , but how could he really blame the CEO for wanting an heir to all of the important things in his life?

And for that, he’d chosen Dwight. He’d smelled the possibility of their bond and had taken him to ensure it. He’d been right, there was no doubt about the pleasant hum in the omega’s body whenever his mate was near. Whenever he even _smelled_ the other man. Whenever he thought of him.

He’d chosen Dwight. And there’d been a reason.

“I’m going to give you a son,” he told his alpha and then, quickly, corrected himself: “sons.”

Those strong fingers stroked his bulging skin once and then again.

“Yes,” Evan said. “You will.”


End file.
